2 AM in the Heads' Common Room
by April Snakehole
Summary: James and Lily have a fireside chat with some Firewhiskey and each other.


A/N: Reposting from tumblr. I've been bad at posting stuff here that I've put up there. Feedback is always appreciated.

 **2 A.M. in the Heads' Common Room**

"Can I ask you a question?"

James started to reply when Lily threw a hand up in the air. "Yes, I know that that is a question."

James grinned and tipped his head towards her. "Ask your second question, then," he said softly.

The fire was roaring and the were each curled up on couches facing each other. It was 2 a.m. in the Heads' Common Room, and there was no real reason to quiet, but their conversation had become ever so slightly hushed two hours prior.

"Witching hour," Lily had murmured.

"Every hour is witching hour, Lily," James had said, a soft smile on his face.

And now it was 2 a.m. and they'd been talking for hours—hours of easy conversation between friends, for that is what they had become somewhere back in sixth year.

"Ask your question before the fire burns out. Once it's cold, I'm not sure how much longer I'll last. I had three hours of Quidditch today," James said. He stretched out his legs and arms and threw his head back and for a minute Lily let herself trace the lines of his chest against his shirt with her eyes.

"Go to bed then, tosser," she said. She took a sip of Firewhiskey from the bottle that James had offered at some point in the night.

"And miss you daintily sipping out of an entire bottle of whiskey? Need me to get a glass for you, Evans?" He grabbed the bottle and took a messy swig.

She threw her nose in the air but couldn't keep the giggle from escaping. "I won't apologize for being civilized, Potter."

"Well then, I apologize for offending your delicate sensibilities with my boyish charm." He grinned toothily and took another drink from the bottle, but not as large as the first. He really was tired, truth be told, and not interested in getting so drunk as to be sick the next day. He had Quidditch practice again tomorrow and he knew from experience that playing Quidditch while hungover was like going into the game having already been hit to the head by Bludgers a few times.

"Apology accepted," Lily grinned back.

"Ask your damn question."

"Oh," Lily blinked, surprised. "I've forgotten."

"Liar," James baited.

"Give me a moment, arse. I've been steadily sipping that firewhiskey, not just taking little gulps every once in awhile." James snorted but Lily held up a hand for silence. "Ah, yes. I always have wondered—last year, how did you manage to make Marlene's hair purple for a week?"

James barked in laughter. "That's you question?"

"She changed her shampoo! She had Poppy try to turn it back! Nothing worked."

"A Marauder never tells," James said. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "But if a Marauder were to hint, he would say that the house elves were incredibly helpful and had access to both every dye, magic or not, in existence, and to every shampoo bottle in the castle."

"Fiend! Are none of our hairstyles safe?"

"'fraid not, Red. I'd watch out if I were you, I always thought green hair to match your eyes would be rather fetching." He leaned back against the couch, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He smirked when he heard her giggle, and opened a single eye to look at her. "So now I get a question."

"Pardon?"

"You asked a question, now I get to."

"You didn't even answer, you hinted."

"Hush, Evans, I'm thinking of your question."

He was silent for a few minutes, head still rested on his hands, eyes closed. Lily wondered if he had fallen asleep and was just about to get up and put her old knitted blanket over him when his eyes popped open. "I've got it."

"Ask away."

"What in the high heaven did you see in Eddie Derby?"

A surprised laugh escaped from Lily. "Eddie Derby?"

"Yeah!" James laughed back, nodding his head emphatically.

"I dated him for a month fifth year, James, what the hell do you care about Eddie Derby?"

"He was a prat, he was still hung up on Daisy Wilkinson, and you were so far out of his league looks-wise that it was laughable."

"Oh, he was sweet to me. Don't talk about poor Eddie like that! He had a sweet little face," Lily cooed.

"That's something to say about a baby, not a bloke you snogged."

Lily sent a slight glare James' way. "We hardly snogged. We mostly just, I don't know. He was a seventh year, and that felt nice, to have him pay attention to me. We actually ended up talking about Daisy a lot, and when we broke up it was mostly because we realized we were just mates anyway."

"Boring answer, Evans."

"You were expecting me to admit my undying love for Eddie Derby?"

"I was expecting more than, 'liked the attention' and 'never more than mates,'" James shrugged.

"Sorry that my love life isn't more scandalous for you," Lily chuckled.

"You really should be. I forgive you, I guess, but Merlin, Evans, try harder."

He smiled warmly at her and Lily cursed her heart for swelling, for reading too much into his smiles and curiosity about her love life. She felt her cheeks start to warm up and hoped it wasn't too obvious. She cleared her throat. "My turn."

"Make it a good one."

"Better than yours won't be hard."

"Probably not."

"Well then. Bit weird, but it's three in the morning and I've lost my filter—when did you stop fancying me?"

James' face slackened a bit. "What?"

"You fancied me in fifth year, and Sirius let slip that you also did in fourth. When did you stop?"

"I—Lily, I asked you about Eddie Derby and you ask me _this?_ That is not an equal question." He was flustered, and wouldn't look in her direction.

"Okay," Lily said quietly. "Answer it anyway."

For four hours they had talked, and for four hours the room had been warm and light and fun—fire burning, laughter bubbling, and whiskey flowing. The air had been sucked out now, and though Lily mourned the loss of that warmth, she needed, badly, to know this answer. By how much had she missed him?

"Lily— _Merlin—_ this isn't fair. I'm so tired and a little drunk. Can't you ask me what my favorite color is?"

"I already know that it's Gryffindor red."

"No. It's green."

"No—"

"Lily, I know my own damn favorite color. And it's—"

"Stop being a coward and answer my question, James."

His eyes flashed.

"I'm not a coward."

"Then answer," Lily said, an edge to her voice to match his.

"Fine," he growled. "I never stopped."

"Oh. Well. Good."

" _Good_?" His mouth fell open.

"Well, you see, I've fancied you for about a year now. So it's just convenient, really," Lily said. She knew her face was bright red by now, but she couldn't find it in her to care as she watched James, shocked, try to catch up with the conversation. His jaw kept moving, like he was trying to talk, and rubbed at his eyes. "What?"

"I'm dreaming," James said quietly, as if to himself. Lily's heart constricted.

"No, James, you're not dreaming."

"I probably fell asleep hours ago," he said gently, looking up at her.

She smiled. "Nope."

"Lily Evans has always only fancied me in my dreams. In fact, Lily Evans used the term, 'in your dreams, Potter,' quite a bit, if I remember correctly." He was picking up steam, smile threatening to explode across his face.

"Well, Lily Evans has reconsidered," she said quietly, a matching grin spread across her own face.

"Good."

Lily expected James to do something. All of these years and all of this buildup, she thought that he'd get up, kiss her, vow his undying devotion, at least hug her—something. Instead, he closed his eyes, smile never wavering, and was asleep within seconds. She felt a rush of intense tenderness as she let herself drift to sleep as well.

Lily woke up hours later, head slightly fuzzy from the firewhiskey from the night before. It was probably only five or six in the morning, but she could get back to sleep. She sat up slowly and glanced over to the other couch. James was still there, still asleep, still smiling. Lily threw a blanket over him and started to walk towards her door so she could collapse on her own bed when she was stopped by a small noise. She looked behind her back to see James, bleary-eyed and hair messier even than usual, staring over the back of the couch at her.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Not a dream?" He mumbled.

Lily smiled. "No, James. It wasn't a dream."

He grinned and collapsed back down onto the couch.

"'Night, James."

"'Night, Lily."


End file.
